


face me, my dear one

by WahlBuilder



Category: Mars: War Logs
Genre: M/M, Pining, Pre-Canon, Sign Language, Technomantic Culture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:20:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26582041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WahlBuilder/pseuds/WahlBuilder
Summary: Roy decides to teach Tenacity one of his languages.
Relationships: Roy/Tenacity Williams
Kudos: 3





	face me, my dear one

‘I want to teach you something,’ Roy announces. He’s sitting cross-legged on a sofa, watching Tenacity repair a leather belt. Tenacity has rolled up his shirt sleeves for that, and he looks so peaceful and so focused, and Roy can’t tear his eyes away from the movement of Tenacity’s hands, all the strange tools, the thick thread, the swish and rustle of work. His attention kept like this, Roy has been thinking about that persistent idea. He has been thinking about it for a long time.

‘Mm, hold on...’ Tenacity makes a neat knot, snips the thread off, puts the needle and thread away into his repair case. He is very precise, and Roy can watch him work like this for hours. Tenacity picks the belt up and looks over it at Roy. ‘Need me in a particular position?’

Roy considers him: one leg folded under himself, the belt having been laid on the thigh. Hands bare. Perfect. ‘This is fine. And the thing can be... It would be useful. For hunts—when we do contracts together.’

‘Doesn’t have to be useful for me to want to learn from you. Wait a bit, I’ll pack this up.’ He folds the belt, closes and zips the case, moves them onto the coffee table, then his gaze is on Roy—all that focus he’s been using on the repairs, now turned to Roy entirely, grey-blue eyes very clear.

Roy tries to hold that gaze, but fails. He knows that Tenacity doesn’t mind, though, unlike most other people. ‘I want to teach you some things in Chirolingua. Chiro... linguistics?’ He grips his hands in front of himself to stop himself from signing: it is easier to use his first language to explain things when he’s agitated—but his first language is unknown to Tenacity, though Tenacity does understand some Auslan. It would be hard, Roy realises. Maybe it’s a foolish idea—to give out something so close, _too_ close to what he is.

‘Chirolinguistics...’ Tenacity hums. ‘A hand language? Sign language?’

‘In a very literal way. It’s not about visual signing, it’s about... touch.’ Spirits. This must sound nuts. But he can’t stop talking, though he senses he’s starting to blabber, words tumbling: ‘I thought it could be useful, for example, when you— when it’s dark or when we must communicate without alerting anyone else around us, and... such.’

‘Yes, it would be... useful. I’ll try not to disappoint, Roy.’

It requires Technomancy—it _is_ eighty percent Technomancy. Just as anyone can learn the hand signs of electro-signing but most of the nuance and meaning is impossible to convey without Technomancy—so in this also. Even more so, in fact, and the hand contact is used to facilitate tighter Technomantic connection.

It is also called: heart-to-heart. They say, trines can ‘speak’ directly like that: not through words, not even through touch itself, but from heart to heart, brain to brain. Not that Roy would ever know that.

‘Some things might look like common gestures,’ Roy says, pushing darker, lonelier thoughts away, ‘so it would be safe to use around strangers. Hold your hands out, palms up and parallel to the ground.’

Tenacity does. There is a faint scar on the base of his thumb on the left palm.

Roy wonders why Tenacity isn’t asking where Roy even learnt all this. There are a lot of unspoken, unspeakable agreements between them, fragile in their silence—things Roy is grateful for, even though he is worried sometimes about Tenacity’s reasons.

Roy takes a breath—and covers Tenacity’s palms with his, pressing the heels together. He reins in his instincts and folds Technomancy away, even though the urge to connect more deeply is almost unbearable. His heartbeat picks up pace—or is it Tenacity’s? ‘This is a greeting. It is... many things: a _salut_ between strangers, a greeting between friends, it’s “I missed you” and “I’m glad you are here”... All of that. But one-sided now. And if both of us do this—’ he curls his fingers and thumbs over Tenacity’s broad wrists—and nearly jumps as Tenacity does the same, his touch careful, ‘—yeah, now it’s mutual. An answered greeting.’

‘It would look innocent,’ Tenacity says.

‘Yeah. Nothing to see here, right?’ Roy smiles—he can feel it’s rather strained and nervous. Tenacity’s hands are warm, and Roy burns with the need to complete the sign properly, to push his Fluid to Tenacity. This might become even harder than he thought. ‘It can be done one-handed,’ he adds. ‘The sentiment is the same. But don’t forget to sort of... push the heel into mine.’

Which Tenacity does, and Roy’s heart is certainly hammering. The dry solidity of Tenacity’s palm, the callouses…

‘Does it matter who’s on top?’ Tenacity clears his throat. ‘I mean... Whose hands are on top?’

‘Not really, except for... Well, there are nuances, but let’s say it doesn’t, for now. It’s, ah. Versatile.’

Tenacity clears his throat again. His fingers twitch on Roy’s skin. ‘Makes sense.’

‘Now, when you press here,’ Roy rubs the bone behind Tenacity’s wrist, ‘with your thumb, it means, with the greeting, “There is danger—stay alert” or “I don’t feel safe”, depending on circumstances.’

Tenacity frowns. ‘Hm. Very useful. Can be done one-handed also?’

‘Yes. There are some differences, but yes, it can be.’ He rubs the tender skin of Tenacity’s wrists—Tenacity sucks in a breath. Has Roy done something wrong? Though he’s certain Tenacity would tell him. ‘Now, hold your hands vertically, palms to me.’

Tenacity does this without objecting. ‘Like this?’

‘Yes, very good. This...’ Roy presses their palms together again and makes a series of signs, giddy, even his Fluid not pushing out because he’s too busy trying not to laugh. ‘This means “You are such a hound, Tenacity”.’

Tenacity narrows his eyes. ‘This... isn’t what it means. Is it?’ His tone is full of incredulity, yet not hostile.

Roy snickers. ‘No! It’s actually a... a children’s song. It’s used to teach the basic forms—ah, the basic... terms? Signs? It’s about a person asking to be let through the gates to, um, to meet their loved one. Oh, you know. It doesn’t have to make sense, it’s not about that.’ He hums the melody, repeating the verses in signs.

‘Huh,’ Tenacity sounds very thoughtful, head tilted. ‘Yeah, I can feel the rhythm.’

He goes on to the second verse.

Tenacity stirs. ‘Hey, this is different.’

He smiles. ‘Yes! You “sing” the second verse with one hand, but the other repeats the first one. Then, the third verse—the main hand, the other hand goes with the second verse, and you start singing with your voice...’

‘The first verse?’

‘Yes.’ Though he only hums it.

‘Damn, this is _hard_ ,’ Tenacity says. His hands are relaxed, and Roy can sign to him easily.

‘Not really...’ And one is supposed to use Technomancy all this time— _doubly_ so for different hands. And on the fourth verse, one adds the Technomantic singing of the first one while also continuing to push the song with both hands. Roy stops at the end of the third verse, however, and instead slots his fingers through Tenacity’s, looks up. ‘And this means “I’m here”.’ _I’m here, I love you, you are not alone_.

Tenacity holds his gaze for a while. ‘Yes. I can... feel it.’

They go through basic numerals, accompanied by Tenacity’s groans of ‘Here I thought that _French_ numerals make no sense!’, which Roy feels honour-bound to counter with pointing out that the Chirolingua numerals _do_ make sense, it’s just not immediately obvious. He adds more of useful signs, doing them enough times that Tenacity can repeat them perfectly after a while; Roy encourages him and corrects him when needed. Tenacity catches some things fast enough, others are, surprisingly to Roy, more difficult, but they get through those also.

‘This is so fascinating,’ Tenacity says, his natural accent unconcealed in his speech. He watches their palms pressed together, then slowly pushes his fingers between Roy’s. ‘”I’m here”.’

Roy completes the sign, reciprocating, holding firmly. ‘Yes. It’s a very intimate language. Of course, like any other language, it can be used for many things, as I mentioned: everyday matters as well as philosophical discussions, but the manner itself is... very specific. Lying is almost impossible and would be considered a very grave offence. There are whole poetic forms for Chirolingua which... I think I wouldn’t be able to translate in any other language at all, aside from recounting the plot, if there is one.’

‘Poetic forms!’ Tenacity squeezes his hand, and astonishment is very loud in that exclamation.

Roy smiles. He feels excited, talking about one of his native languages, even though he omits so many important things and will probably feel very lonely after, missing what he used to have, what he cannot share even with Tenacity. ‘One of the most complex forms is like...’ He rubs Tenacity’s knuckles. ‘Imagine reciting two poems simultaneously, but you are also singing two different songs, _and_ you are projecting images showing another poem in a visual form, _and_ all of that is done _to_ you by two different people. And it all makes sense, it’s not just randomness or chaos.’

Tenacity’s brows are so high they might as well lift off.

Roy chuckles. ‘But, to outsiders, it would be only... glimpses of a grand party going on over there—which is a deliberate part of the whole thing set-up also. Chirolingua isn’t a language for shouting at the marketplace.’ He sighs, his excitement waning. ‘I know it sounds insane, and—’

Tenacity squeezes his hands again—it is like the repeating _I’m here_ , though Roy thinks Tenacity does it on instinct, without adding any linguistic meaning. ‘No, it doesn’t. It sounds wonderful.’

‘So.’ Roy shakes their connected hands lightly. ‘Now you know.’

‘Thank you for sharing it with me,’ Tenacity says, and his tone is low, close—sincere. ‘And so that I don’t forget it, we must use it together from time to time. Will you teach me the song?’

Roy lowers their hands, looks away. ‘No. It’s very difficult to explain, and it’s…’ He searches for a word in any language he is certain Tenacity understands.

‘Not for outsiders?’ Tenacity supplies. Without judgement or remorse—at least as much as Roy can interpret.

‘Not for outsiders,’ he admits. Not in a prohibitive sense, exactly—Roy is certainly different from other people, but he’s fucking tired of Technomancers, _Auroran_ Technomancers, being spoken about as crazy demons or aliens, as though they are so entirely removed from the rest that there is no understanding—and that view comes frequently not just from outside the Source but from within also. It is rather that as song is just a song but not just a song at the same time. He can teach Tenacity the melody, the words, the signs—but there is history behind each, subtext and connotations, and personal stories from Roy’s past.

He doesn’t want to deprive Tenacity of any of it—yet it is too much to convey. Too dangerous.

Roy isn’t ready.

‘I wish I...’ He cuts himself off. Maybe those people are right. Maybe no true understanding can be found.

He strokes Tenacity’s knuckles. They are flattened by punching, and there are small scars here and there on Tenacity’s hands—so different from Roy’s own scars.

A trine can reach a complete understanding, they say. Without the barrier of words—a full connection, truly becoming one. Emotions, feelings, thoughts—shared as they are. It must be difficult to manage sometimes, Roy imagines. It’s a process that is so complex that it’s gained an almost mythical status, even though it happens quite often, impossible to explain to outsiders as it is.

Everything Roy can do is imagine. Try to imagine having his place in the world, his people—torn at the same time by the desire to disappear completely, to not touch even a single life. Wants to be heard, wants to never be heard.

‘Let’s speak more,’ he says, holding onto Tenacity’s hands.

‘Without saying anything?’

‘Without.’ Maybe it’s the only way for them to share the truth.


End file.
